


I Want To Be

by henkitry



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henkitry/pseuds/henkitry
Summary: Kokichi loves his best friend, but his best friend wants to die. When they get accepted into Danganronpa, their futures become finalized; Kokichi stops caring, and Shuichi decides to finally start.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	I Want To Be

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year! my new years resolution is to write more but my head empty. :( i hope you guys had a wonderful holiday <3
> 
> not beta-read, sorry for any mistakes. i'm a little more shy with my fluff.

> **Shuichi:**  
>  >> you awake?

There was something not quite right about today.

By the time Kokichi finished brushing his teeth, he had cooked up the phrase, ‘woke up on the wrong side of bed.’ It was the closest combination of words that he could use to describe it, but the cliche fell short in an important way — the change felt subtler than a sour mood and a crooked nerve in his neck. More like he had gone to sleep, only to wake up in a world where everything was slightly off. A world of half-stability. As soon as he went into the hallway, the inconsistencies would reveal themselves and pile up: the carpet would be lighter, the stove cleaner, the air with a slight hint of something he had never smelled before. Maybe he’d find himself magically attracted to women, lost in the eyes of the weather girl playing on television.

That would be hilarious, honest to God.

But his house was, fortunately or not, none of those things. He was still gay (he knew that from the beginning, but the reminder was nice), and the oddest thing about him was that his lips were cracked. Kokichi swiped a stick of balm over his lips, tenderly pressing against where the skin had begun to flake. The cold always made his lips peel; he crushed the urge to pick at it and made his way into the kitchen. His stove was still dirty.

He popped two slices of bread into the toaster, the metal dusted with blackened crumbs. Staring at his morphed reflection in the steel, Kokichi ignored the quick _zrrt zrrt_ of his phone.

> **Shuichi:**  
>  >> i was too excited so i couldnt slep :-P  
>  >> sleepp  
>  >> sleep  
>  >> fjck

He knew it would be Shuichi before he even unlocked his phone. The LED in the corner blinked neon blue, which meant he got a message from an app that only he and Shuichi used. There was a part of him that itched to answer — Kokichi was not sure why he was procrastinating. He felt compelled to play stupid for a bit, let Shuichi wait for his response in the way only a petty teenager would do. _Don’t answer too quickly, otherwise you seem desperate for them to like you!_ In contrast, Shuichi never played those waiting games. His texts were a hurricane of quick-fire thoughts, as though he had them only to dump them, rinse, repeat.

Even now, his phone kept buzzing with increasing alarm. Kokichi almost missed the beep of the toaster with how continuous the vibrations wracked his kitchen countertop.

He fished out the toast; the center of it was smoky, toasted a dark brown. The usual. Shitty toaster, shitty toast. He spread jam over the crumbling surface and ate it in a few bites over the sink.

> **Shuichi:**  
>  >> helloooooo!  
>  >> i know ur awake  
>  >> if you arent then ur gonna be late for school >:-(

A little bit more waiting. Kokichi smothered the small smirk that tickled the corners of his mouth and pushed apart the blinds to see the first true peculiarity of the day.

Sunlight rolled over him like a thick coat of dust, making his eyes flinch. The sky was a perfect baby blue. Odd, since the past few days had been riddled with clouds and breathy fogs. His nose had been permanently frostbitten, but now the sun made his skin feel like he was baking in an oven. He closed the curtains. Sun seemed wrong for today. _Somehow._

A full five minutes past, Kokichi unlocked his phone.

> **You:**  
>  >> sleeping  
>  >> zzz
> 
> **Shuichi:**  
>  >> OH!! good morning sunshine :-)  
>  >> n e wayy  
>  >> here’s the news:  
>  >> my enevlpoe finally CAME!!!  
>  >> encelope  
>  >> IM TOO EXCITED TO SPELE!!!!
> 
> **You:**  
>  >> what?  
>  >> you misspelled that last one on purpose to try and make me laugh, didnt you
> 
> **Shuichi:**  
>  >> don’t call me out  
>  >> i’m pretending you didn’t FORGET what the envwlope is  
>  >> lets meet on the roof after school and open them together  
>  >> bring yours!

_Ah._

The _envelope._

That manila envelope had been sitting flat on Kokichi’s dining table, gathering a light film of dust. Kokichi had tossed it there when it came in the mail over three weeks ago, a healthy _thunk_ from its thickness hitting the lacquered cedar; since then, it hadn’t been moved. It hadn’t even been breathed on. Partially because Shuichi asked him not to touch it, but to a more honest extent — Kokichi didn’t want to open it, not really.

That envelope held something that could change his future. Change _their_ futures. As stupid as that sounded.

He was not ready for his life to be over.

* * *

There was a part of him that wondered if he should even go to school. Attending class was basically a joke — but Kokichi was a sucker for routine. He went anyway, sat in the back corner of the room, eying his teacher’s back as he gripped his phone under his desk. Tilting it slightly, the last burst of Shuichi’s messages shined up to his eyes:

> **Shuichi:**  
>  >> lets meet on the roof after school and open them together  
>  >> bring yours!

There was no reason to wait so long if Shuichi was going to go to school today — that meant he was skipping. Kokichi swallowed an exasperated sigh, air bloating in his chest. All this anxiety for something he didn’t even care for. He found himself regretting not skipping with him, not that he would’ve had much to do outside of school. The town was small, and Shuichi lived on the other side of it, clearing a near unwalkable distance. If Kokichi decided to visit him, it would be around an hour or two of trudging, the heels of his shoes peeling in the heat. No thank you.

His leg bounced anxiously as he thought of making that trip, the metal of his chair creaking with every spasm of muscle.

And, as always, in an exercise of pure banality, time was slow. _So_ slow. Cruel and unusual punishment slow. Looking at the clock made the world slow down — the professor’s voice trailed away — and his thoughts expanded until it was the only thing left in his brain: 30 more minutes. 29 more minutes. Pay attention, it’ll make time go by faster. Derivatives. When the second derivative equals zero, that means…

His hand mindlessly copied what was on the half-hearted powerpoint presentation before he gave up with a yawn. He scribbled a small Monokuma in the corner of his notebook page instead and let himself fantasize a bit.

_We could go to a cafe later. Shuichi’ll want to go no matter what the results are. We haven’t gone to that sandwich place in a while._

At around ‘15 more minutes’, Kokichi began writing his cafe order with large, looping letters: _rye bread. ham. lettuce. provolone. no tomato, no mayo. iced tea._

At 13 minutes, he tried to write down what Shuichi would order and thought too hard about it: _white bread? turkey with the works. extra avocado (insert Rantaro joke). large soda?_ He carefully drew Shuichi’s face next to the words, then scribbled it out after he decided it looked ugly. For a moment, he pondered whether or not he had ever seen Shuichi drink a glass of water. A lot of Shuichi’s lifestyle habits offended Kokichi on a primal level, so it wasn’t surprising that he could barely remember. He managed to procure a blurry memory of Shuichi holding a water bottle. Did he drink it? Where even were they?

Kokichi looked up at the clock.

_10 minutes left._

* * *

At lunch, Kokichi picked at his food. His stomach was flipping and the mere concept of food was making him feel nauseous. 1 pm, 2 pm, 2:30 pm, 2:35:45 pm. The seconds were ticking by so slowly that he wondered if it was mocking him.

* * *

By the time he had trekked his way up to the roof, the sun was hanging low in the sky like a swollen grapefruit, glowing and soft. The concrete of the roof radiated warmth where the sunlight hugged it, but the shade was overwhelmingly cold. It was going to be a cloudy day after all; the day was already turning gloomy.

Shuichi was not there yet, which meant he was late, which would’ve been fine any other day — but Shuichi being absent meant more waiting, more staying on edge. A corner of the manila envelope peeked from between the teeth of his bag’s zipper, teasing.

God. Kokichi was positive he had never felt this nervous before. Even with the wind chilling the sweat on his neck, his body felt feverish. His blood full of poison. His heart pumped hard. He wiped his forehead nervously, watching the iron fence that surrounded the roof’s perimeter sway back and forth. That fence was meant to stop people from falling off (or jumping), but it seemed pathetically unreliable. It looked like if Kokichi shook it just a bit more that it would disintegrate into rust and metal shavings.

He stared through the wide gaps in the fence to the sidewalk below. Swarms of students dotted the asphalt. Maybe Shuichi was down there? Kokichi squinted to look for his friend’s hat — knowing how darkly he dressed, Shuichi would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb in a crowd of bright colors — but saw nothing.

Shuichi finally arrived fifteen minutes later. The door swung open like the great maw of a beast, its hinges sounding an unsettling roar. Behind it, Shuichi scrambled to catch up to Kokichi despite his counterpart standing perfectly still, neutral and waiting. Aside from perhaps a slight glaze of disappointment over his eyes.

Kokichi attempted a smile, which did not work, because Shuichi’s eager-to-please grin fell when they finally met eyes.

“Headache?” Shuichi mumbled sympathetically, his eyebrows upturned with worry.

Without his consent, his brain conjured up an image of him snapping at his friend: _”yeah, I have a headache, it doesn’t matter though since you clearly give so much of a fuck about me, being this late after making me wait all day. let’s get back to ruining our lives, okay?”_ Kokichi shunted the bitter thought out of his mind before he could fully process it, shelved it in his mental folder of ‘things to think and not say’, the folder that would eventually be opened if-ever, _whenever_ the last straw snapped.

He nodded, a quick bob of his head as his eyes trailed away. The worried lines on Shuichi’s face softened into pity.

“Do you have your meds?” Shuichi loosened a water bottle from his bag’s side pocket and held it out. Kokichi’s head pounded like a drum as he fingered the vial of painkillers in his pocket. After a small stint of hesitation, Kokichi took the bottle and swallowed down two pills for his migraine — the water was lukewarm in his hand, cold in his throat.

“Thanks.”

Shuichi blinked in acknowledgment. That was one thing that they could share: comforting, small motions that only they would understand. They were a pair that was quiet in nature, free from the need of noise. Most friends scrounged for new things to talk about to keep the relationship from growing stale — but Shuichi and Kokichi could, would spend hours together saying virtually nothing. They were a pair that would block off an entire aisle at a bookstore, unceremoniously opening manga and pointing at the funny parts, hushed snickers as they remained oblivious to everyone else.

Without another word, they sat down on the lone bench next to the door.

A robust silence. Somewhere in his aching brain, Kokichi recognized that he would have to say the first word to move the conversation along. But he stayed silent for a while longer, his gaze trained on the ground, the way the shadows elongated over the gum-pocked floor. The rushed feeling dissipated. He had been waiting the entire day to finally look at the results, but he couldn’t remember why. It suddenly seemed so pointless.

Kokichi started as Shuichi pressed a small cloth to his head — Shuichi flinched back at his full body tremor, holding his hands up as an apology. “S-Sorry! You’re just, ah, sweating a lot. Are you feeling okay?”

“… Yeah,” Kokichi whispered, his voice low and hoarse, like his body was confused on how to speak. “I feel better.”

Shuichi dabbed the cloth against Kokichi’s face again, and Kokichi let him. He closed his eyes and let himself sink.

* * *

The first time they had met was almost like fate — they had the same subway route to school every morning, even though they would leave campus at different times. Kokichi only started noticing because of Shuichi’s constant hatted state. He became the boy who sat at the same seat every day, nose stuck in some gaudy-covered light novel, brim of his cap pulled down so hard that it shadowed his eyes. Sometimes Kokichi would sit next to him and try to peek at his book; Shuichi never seemed to notice.

Halfway through the first semester, Kokichi bounced onto the train late, bleary-eyed from the night before. The seats had all been taken, so he stood with his hand attached to the overhead handle, his arm stretched upwards from his height. His eyelids fluttered drowsily. He stared at the floor, saw stamped-down dark smudges of shoe scuffs, and thought to himself: ‘ _Jesus Christ I am so tired._ ’

He felt a tap on his shoulder then, and he found the boy in the dark cap timidly gesturing to an open seat. His usual seat.

Kokichi sat down without another word. He was too tired to refuse, and if he spent another minute standing up, he was positive he would pass out and crash onto the floor. The seat was warm from the other’s body heat.

“Thank you,” he mumbled out. The hat boy stood, nodding his head shyly. Then Kokichi put his bag in his lap and slept.

Eating wasn’t allowed on the train, but the conductors typically turned a blind eye to inoffensive snacks. Kokichi packed a small granola bar in with his pack the next morning, eagerly went to the station where the train was already parked, waiting for its 8:30 AM departure.

Shuichi sat with his light novel again, but he seemed less absorbed in it than usual. They met eyes when Kokichi stepped foot on the train. Shuichi’s gaze darted around the train for a moment, as though to insist he wasn’t intentionally looking at him. The seat next to him was empty.

Kokichi dug through his bag and brought out his granola bar, held it towards him; Shuichi looked up at him in surprise. He hurriedly folded one of the book’s pages to mark his place and took the bar gingerly into his hands, like it was something precious. The action still tickled Kokichi a little: the way he had that bar he gave him like it wasn’t just a $1 item he bought at some random gas station.

“Thanks for yesterday,” Kokichi said, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself. Shuichi rolled the bar around in his hands before he placed it into the front pocket of his bag.

“No problem,” Shuichi responded so quietly that Kokichi almost missed it. He didn’t open his light novel again. He kept it closed and placed flat on his lap, even though he didn’t make another attempt at conversation. His hands balled up.

“What’s your name?” Kokichi tried, dreading the awkward edge to his voice. He wasn’t one to make light conversation very well. At parties, he would gravitate towards the walls, away from the center of the room at all costs.

“Shu — Shuichi,” the hat boy responded with a slight crack in his voice. His cheeks flushed. “Saihara… that’s my last name.”

“I’m Kokichi.”

“Cool. Nice. Um…” Shuichi appeared to run out of things to say at this point. His hands clutched each other over his lap.

“It’s okay.” Kokichi sat down on the seat next to him, taking care not to bump elbows. “We can be friends without having to talk.”

Shuichi visibly relaxed; he slumped down in his seat, fiddling with the brim of his cap.

“Cool,” he said again.

* * *

“We should open up the envelopes.” Kokichi allowed himself to say this when the sun finally began setting. The sharp pain behind his left eye turned into a gentle thud. From the way Shuichi’s face screwed with excitement, it looked as though he had forgotten why they had met in the first place. His handkerchief jammed back into his pocket; his fingers fumbled with his bag’s zipper until he pried the backpack open far enough that he could squeeze the envelope out.

A thick manila envelope, just like Kokichi’s.

The exercise itself was pointless. There was no reason why Team Danganronpa would send out such a big envelope if this was a rejection. Despite that, Kokichi dutifully reached into his own bag and brought out his matching package.

“Okay,” Shuichi said, his voice slightly trembling, “On three?”

_’Just fucking open it.’_ Kokichi’s thoughts flared. In person, his head nodded, his fingernail crooked at the ready to destroy the adhesive.

“One, two,” Shuichi hesitated at the last beat, “… three.”

There was a burst of sound as they ripped open the packages, the tearing and rustling of paper. Kokichi yanked the letter out, uncaring of any damage he was causing; Shuichi on the other hand gently shimmied it into the open with all the patience in the world.

On the top of the thick, watermarked paper, Team Danganronpa’s header blazed with a magnificent black and white and red. Monokuma’s facade grinned menacingly back at him.

> _Dear Kokichi Ouma,_
> 
> _**Congratulations!** On behalf of Team DR, it’s with great pleasure that we offer you a place in the 53rd season of Danganronpa._

His breath left him. Hands trembling, he lowered the letter and stared in front of him, his vision blurring with anxiety. His fingers twitched, trying to work against the urge to tear the paper in half.

“ _You got in!_ ” Shuichi’s voice shrilled in his ear, uncharacteristically manic, but Kokichi barely registered him. His eyes slowly moved to meet his partner’s.

He knew better. He knew better, but Kokichi let himself hope for the best right up until Shuichi’s answer. _Maybe they sent him something as a consolation prize. Maybe they sent it to him on accident — maybe it has someone else’s name on the top and they messed up._

Shuichi’s letter was the same: the identical header, the looping signature of Team DR’s CEO on the bottom line. **Congratulations!** in big bold text.

His fate was sealed.

“Congrats,” Kokichi echoed. Across from him, Shuichi sought out Kokichi’s hand, squeezed it comfortingly twice.

“We’re _in._ ” Shuichi whispered the words like he was going to get caught if he spoke too loudly. Kokichi stared at his lips. They were chapped. He wished he kept the lip balm he put on this morning so he could offer it.

How was someone meant to react to the promise of death? The game wouldn’t take place for months, not until they both graduated from high school. But Shuichi and Kokichi were both now marked for death — essentially for a public execution. The thought was so depressing that Kokichi could cry. That would make more sense than his reaction right now, an empty, weak expression that made his jaw feel numb.

The dull ache moved from behind his eye to the back of his skull, prickling the nerves under his hair.

“Kokichi?”

“Hm?” Kokichi made his vision focus again, saw Shuichi’s anxiously happy face, his delighted smile faltering with conflict. He got the message ( _’you’re not as happy as I thought you would be. Are you OK?’_ ) and responded accordingly: “I’m fine. Just a little… shocked. That we both got in.”

“It’s so lucky.” Shuichi vigorously bobbed his head in agreement. “I was really worried that only one of us would get accepted.” His eyes locked onto the acceptance letter again, a confirmation of that truth. He was babbling about something else, but Kokichi didn’t really pay attention; he focused on Shuichi’s lips again, the way they were slightly wet as he spoke, his tongue peeking between his teeth with every ‘th’ sound, the bright red line where the skin had split.

Without thinking, Kokichi raised his hand, and Shuichi obediently saw and trailed into silence — Kokichi gently pushed his finger against the split in Shuichi’s lip, ignored the way he twitched, a combination of unexpected contact and pain. Shuichi’s golden eyes stared back at him questioningly.

“Your lip is bleeding,” Kokichi said. As Shuichi blinked in response, Kokichi leaned in and kissed him.


End file.
